


Otayuri Smut | Ongoing

by dovecitadel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, M/M, POV First Person, Present Tense, Smut, Smut and Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:44:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovecitadel/pseuds/dovecitadel
Summary: This is a companion to Victuuri Smut but may be read stand alone. Come in, get comfortable, sin, go back out.





	1. Smirk

"Can I borrow a hair tie?" I grumble, searching my pockets and coming up empty.

Otabek touches the band holding up his own bun first before remembering the extra on his wrist. He wordlessly places it in the palm of my hand. His fingers momentarily brush my hand, leaving me a blushing red mess in the wake of his touch. I begrudgingly thank him, binding my hair in a careless rush. Meeting the usual crowd of skaters for dinner has never been a painless affair, and tonight I think will be no different. Otabek makes it bearable at least, I suppose.

"You don't look happy," Otabek hands me a helmet as he mounts the motorcycle. "It's your birthday," he continues, "you should be happy that your friends care and want to meet you for dinner. At the very least that means you don't have to pay." Otabek has insisted on picking up my tab.

"Sure," I huff, my eyes rolling back to examine the contents of my skull. It's too dark in my head to see much; just about as black as my heart in there. "'Friends,'" I scoff, Russian accent thickening with my disgust, "you're my only friend Otabek." 

I mutter and grumble but Otabek seems unfazed, supplying an amused half-smirk. He turns around and fixes my helmet when I clumsily land behind him.

"Safety first," he pulls the helmet down to my eyebrows, hiding my perpetually angry glare.

"Yeah, yeah-- whatever. Can we go now, please?" I push the helmet backward to sit on my forehead again once he turns around.

"Yep," he says simply, the bike noisily rolling forward.

We ride in silence-- silent only ignoring the roaring wind and noisy technology propelling us forward. I sort of like the way the road pops loudly beneath the wheels, and the way the world just sort of blurs and buzzes into the background. This is nothing like skating and yet oddly akin to the feeling of effortless gliding. It suits Otabek. 

I'd be perfectly content to ride on the back of his motorcycle forever like this, but we do stop eventually. As we come to the door of the restaurant I almost feel as if we've wasted our time together in silence. But time with Otabek is never wasted, and the silences are long and comfortably so.

"What's the reservation under?" I mumble under my breath to Otabek as we enter the restaurant.

"They made it under Plisetsky for you," he half-smirks again.

The smirks would annoy me if he were genetically capable of anything more, but he isn't genetically capable of anything more, so I'm forced to give him a pass. Not that it would even matter if I were to get mad. Otabek is impossibly hard to hold a grudge against-- and I'm one to try. Not that I've had a reason to be mad at him, but that-- in itself-- is infuriating because he's so damn perfect-- 

Focus.

"Thanks," I reply under my breath to Otabek. 

I clear my throat before redirecting my voice to the man at the front podium. "Reservation for Plisetsky."

He runs his forefinger down a list, glancing up at us skeptically once. Otabek and I exchange a disgusted glance. I tighten my hair band indignantly as he takes his time.

"Oh, here you are," the man suddenly replies briskly, brightening. "Right this way, sirs."

We follow at a slow pace, taking in the atmosphere as we go. Victor and Katsudon better not have beaten us here. Their annoyingly adorable little one is staying home tonight, but Victor is enough of a nuisance to make up for the absence. The usher seats Otabek and me at an empty table, as if in response to my inward prayers. Could I actually be on the verge of a good birthday gathering?

"No friends yet," I mutter anyway once Otabek and I are alone again.

"What happened to me?" Otabek kicks me under the table, half of a grin painting his face.

If I'm not blushing brightly enough to reflect red off the pearly white table cloth-- Oh boy, here they come.

"Yurio!"


	2. Pants

"Do they all travel in a pack or something?" I grumble, taking down the ponytail-holder.

"Stop hiding behind your hair," Otabek reaches forward to brush the fallen strands out of my eyes. "Social." It's not a command-- but it's like a command.

I'm grateful when the waiter dares approach our table and ask for our drink orders. The designated survivors at the table don't go unnoticed when most of us order something alcoholic. When it comes to me, I don't even get to order for myself-- "the birthday boy" is suddenly also on Victor's tab. I'm good with that for a while. The party atmosphere is blisteringly painful but it has lulled into a numbing ache by the time the waiter returns with our drinks.

The first thing to actually go wrong: I knock my own drink all over my black slacks no sooner than do I take my first sip. The second thing to go wrong: I storm off looking for the restroom. Maybe if I'd been smart enough to read the signs I could have found it by now, but I'm traipsing around the place like a soggy idiot. I am a soggy idiot-- who am I kidding?

But I do eventually find a convoluted way of entry. I can find my way around an ice rink, easy-- it's clear-cut-- but add walls, tables, and a boatload of unfamiliar faces and subtract all the splendor of skating, and I'm nothing but hopeless. Otabek must have seen me tromp in the wrong direction because he rushes in soon after me.

"You found the restroom," he observes, watching me take as many paper towels to my pants as possible.

"Yeah," I sigh, ready to give up. "These ruined?" I gesture to my slacks hopelessly.

Otabek shrugs, giving me a quick once-over.

"They're black," he counters with a shrug. 

Figures he'd say something like that. I scoff a bit of laughter to myself. Otabek doesn't know anything about clothes. I bet Katsudon could help. I need all the help I can get though and at least Otabek is present.

"Help me," I motion for him to follow me into the largest stall. 

For awkwardness' sake he leaves the door open. But the room is hollowly empty and without traffic. I angrily direct him to close the stall door anyway as I peel off my pants and try again to dab out the wine with soap and water. But I appear to be doing everything wrong.

"Hey, Beka, I need some-- oh!" I swallow hard, turning to find him already leaning over my shoulder. "Didn't see you there," I clear my throat.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, Yura," his hand touches my shoulder again, the side of his hand grazing my neck during its descent. 

Gooseflesh betrays my every attempt to remain calm. Goddammit, this is a public restaurant. I don't want to be thrown out. But before I know to do any better, I'm kissing Otabek and allowing him to push me-- pantless-- against the whitewashed wall. I really should know better than to let the kiss get so heated, but I've already thrown caution to the wind. That again, I've already thrown my pants aside.

Now it's a mission to be as sexy as possible as unnoticeably as possible. Quick, quiet, back before the waiter even takes everyone's orders. If we're being honest, that means we have to stop. I break away and lift my lips to his ears.

"After dinner."

"I want you," Otabek protests.

Equal to his size and stature, although leaner and a hair taller, I push him in my stead against the frigid tile wall.

"I want you, Beka," one more tepid kiss, "but we should get back to the table before they start asking questions."

He nods, the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips as he picks up my carelessly discarded slacks.

"Thanks," I mumble, stepping into them.

They are drier than before but still uncomfortably damp. They'll have to do for now, I guess. I have no choice but to follow Otabek toward the fiendish pit of joy and folly that await our return. I cannot feel more stupid as I try to avert everyone's gaze and sit down.


	3. Sloppy !

Dinner goes over surprisingly well. Katsudon traded places with Victor, which made eating a lot more enjoyable. I'm pleased with my presents, too-- mostly consisting of cat-related apparel. But I'm most pleased that it's over now, and Otabek can finally get me out of these pants.

"I'm taking these off," I grumble, stepping into the hotel room. "We have to be quiet," I add over my shoulder.  
Otabek is shrugging out of his coat. "Yakov is in the next room."

Otabek simply nods, silently closing the distance between us. 

My stomach somersaults as he continues to undress. A quiet groan slips from my lips as he gently pushes on my chest, guiding me down to the bed. He stands over me, shirtless and belt unbuckled.

"Let me help you, Yura," he says lowly, pushing on my chest again, directing me to lie back.

My heart inflates and threatens to burst as the clothes come away. Breathlessly, I sit up to unbutton my shirt. He breaks away to finish undressing himself. Before I've even finished, Otabek climbs over top me, pressing me into the mattress and holding me down by the wrists.

The kiss that follows steals every ounce of oxygen from my lungs and leaves my chest hungry not for air but for release from the hot confounded shirt and undershirt. I attempt to use my hands to finish unbuttoning my shirt, but Otabek has a firm grip on my wrists.

"Beka," I groan between kisses. "Please," I whisper.

"Only because you asked so nicely," he replies, the response muddled by sloppy oscillations of his large lips against my neck.

He reluctantly releases my hands and impatiently hovers over me while I gingerly discard the last of my clothing. He helps me lift the white v-neck over my shoulders. I shiver at the naked feeling of being fully exposed for him.

Disrobing in the presence of Otabek used to be harder-- heart-wrenching and panicking, actually. But it's almost as easy as tying a skate now. A lot has changed, I guessed.

"Beka, fuck me," I whimper as his teeth graze my clavicle.

"Mm," he moans huskily. "Yuri," he says my name like a praise. 

His hands graze tenderly over my hips before his grip hardens with lust. I think I'm in for a wild ride. Otabek is not one to softly make love when I ask him to fuck. His hands travel down to my knees, lifting them up and back. He positions himself to tease me, but before he enters me, he presents me with his middle finger to suck.

I oblige, swathing my tongue around the length of it. He shudders as my lips part so that I can lick all the way up and down. That will be enough. He then inserts the wet length up my most intimate region, slowly at first and then building force and speed until I'm hoarsely hissing his name.

If I had the liberty of volume, I would be yelling his name and moaning for more of him. But all I can do is focus on my breathing right now-- and pray Otabek will show me just enough mercy to avoid an awkward conversation with Yakov tomorrow. He suddenly pushes his erect want along my skin, teasing me again before entering.

"Fuck," I plead. "O-- unh!-- O-Otabek, I nee-eed you, ple-ease, oh-h."

That appears to be all the encouragement he needed. He glides in smoothly. He hisses in satisfaction while I tense and desperately suck in air. As if to prevent me from bursting, he pushes down on my chest with the palm of his hand, simultaneously forcing my lower-body muscles to relax. He brushes the hair out of my eyes before going in for another sloppy kiss-- inculcating my body with his no sooner than do our lips meet again.

I feel hot. I feel wet with desire. With every febrile pump, I only get wetter and hotter. I slip my tongue into his mouth and try to mimic the love his body makes to mine. He accepts my presence, our tongues dancing like gliding pair-skaters. The sway of our lips feels almost as good the heavy rock of his hips.

"You're so tight," Otabek pants through the thumping passion.

"Unh! You're so big," I argue, throwing my head back as he hits deeper.

"Fuck, Yura," he groans. "Oh," a long string of curses, "I'm coming, Yuri!" 

He pulls out and slams back in, each thrust desperately hitting harder and deeper. His name tumbles from my lips in a series of uncontrollably desperate moans. The warm release fills me at last. Otabek heaves a great sigh of relief and satisfaction, cupping my chin and kissing me again. I like his sloppy kisses. He is so impassioned, he can't even control the few muscles in his face that he does reign over.

"You're amazing, Yuri," he breathes, chest heaving.

"Not anything compared to you," I deny, rolling him over. I pause to look at him. "I love you."

"I love you, Yura," he returns evenly.

He sits up and pulls me into his lap to straddle him. He takes my own hard want into one hand before looking up into my face.

"Need me to take care of this?" he smirks.

"Nmugh!" I gasp as he suddenly begins pumping his wrist. "Beka-- Beka!"

And before I can even regret shouting his name for the world to hear, I am violently yielding liquid pleasure all over our chests. We are hot and sticky and breathless. We need a shower. When I propose as much, Otabek is more than willing to participate.


	4. Fresh

For what it's worth, I was just fucked by a World Class athlete. I have no shame. But I am somewhat ashamed of the pain accompanying the trek to the shower. I find myself heavily leaning on Otabek for support, suddenly unable to even stand on my own.

"Hot or cold," Otabek asks my preference of water temperature.

"Cold," I grumble, still feeling feverishly warm.

"Alright," Otabek spins the dial until frigid water falls in a gentle stream from the shower head. "Do I need to continue holding you?" I resent the amusement in his question.

"Ugh, I'm topping next time," I roll my eyes, although tightening my grip around his shoulders as we step under the water. 

"You said that last time," Otabek smirks, the quick kiss that follows as clean as the soap he smoothes down my back.

Taken by surprise, I almost slip until his stronger arms steady me on my feet again. I am practically using his arm as a crutch. If I could stop the heat from boiling under my skin, I would. But even under the cold water, I am helpless to blush.

"You just wait, Beka," I grumble, returning the kiss reluctantly. 

But as his lips touch mine again, greed overtakes my desire to snark. A soft "oh," falls from my lips as quickly and as swiftly as the water from the shower head. Otabek, that smooth bastard, takes the opportunity to sweeten the kiss and comfortingly massage my back with every additional stroke of soap. He lulls me into a state of squeaky-clean bliss. 

A comfortable lapse in conversation follows the tender touch of his hands. The occasional coo will tumble from either of us, but we choose to simply enjoy the tactile sensation of fresh, clean partnership. When the water turns off, it is almost like awakening from a trance. 

I blink around and shake the wet hair out of my face, searching Otabek's face. For what I am searching, I am unsure, but whatever his steady gaze supplies is enough to reassure me. I collapse against his chest, temporarily throwing him off balance. The sudden threat of crashing to the floor puts my systems on high alert, but Otabek simply stumbles and then stands tall as if it never happened. He smirks at me.

"You ought to rest now," he says lowly.

"Oh, yeah, you know that for sure?" I tease, daring to stand back and walk on my own.

Otabek's eyebrows almost lift, he is so impressed when I don't fall. I am relying on good balance, but I am standing independently, nonetheless. Walking, however, still appears out of the question.

"Beka," I groan, suddenly shivering. "Please, help me."

He sweeps me up in a fresh towel and kisses every available inch of skin as he walks me toward the bed. I land with a heavy plop! at his mercy. Otabek quietly walks away and begins to dry himself off while I sit and watch, quietly admiring the muscles in his back as they twitch with his movements. How did I get here, shamefully-shamelessly admiring the goddamn sexiest view given to any man on the planet?

As if to exaggerate my thought, Otabek drops the towel by accident, exposing every bit of skin I wanted to see. My stomach tingles with fresh desire. I avert my eyes however, just in time for Otabek to turn around and watch the blush dust my cheeks for the umpteenth time tonight.

"Sorry," he mutters, stepping into his clothes.

"No, don't do that," I protest too quickly. "What are the odds of you staying the night here?" I ask hopefully.

Otabek glances at the bedside alarm clock then back toward me. He stands, clad only in his underwear. He shrugs.

"Okay, Yura," he nods. "But I have to go in the morning."

"Wake me up before you leave," I implore.

"Alright," he acquiesces as he nudges me aside and joins me in bed. "But I'm the big spoon."

"You're always the big spoon," I argue. "I want to be the big spoon."

"Oh yeah?" his voice rumbles in a manner as close to laughter as he can achieve. "Earn it."

"Why I oughta--" I grumble, pouncing on him with renewed strength and energy. "There," I declare, clinging to his back like a panda to bamboo. "I am the big spoon now."

"You got me," Otabek deadpans.

"Awesome," I whisper, pressing a ginger kiss just below his ear.


	5. Babysitting

In its own ways, babysitting is somewhat therapeutic for me. Especially when the pressure to win is always building higher and higher in my ice skating career, I almost look forward to the promotional tours Victor plans for Katsudon's benefit. I'm not so sure that either of them enjoy leaving Valkyrie behind, but I sort of like having Valkyrie around at times. 

Don't get me wrong, I hate most kids-- snotty little brats, the lot of them. But Valkyrie is just a little different, partially due to Supraventricular Tachycardia (SVT). In comparison to Otabek's handful of a kid-sister, Valkyrie is lightsome and quirky. But Otabek's youngest sister is often in need of babysitting too. So when we find ourselves on the same continent, Otabek and I will babysit the two little girls together.

"Uncle Yuri, Uncle Yuri!" Valkyrie bounces up, out of breath. "Can Tamilya and I braid your hair, please?" she asks articulately, hands clasped behind her back and wearing her best puppy-dog expression.

"Why do I only see manners when you want something?" I ask suspiciously.

She gives way to a percolating fit of giggling. "Pretty please, Uncle Yuri," she begs between hiccups of laughter.

"Okay, Princess," I acquiesce. "But be gentler this time-- I'm still finding bald spots from where you pulled out my hair last time." 

"Yay!" she squeals.

I allow her to lead me into the playroom, where Tamilya is still finishing up Otabek's fingernail polish.

"Tami!" Valkyrie exclaims, "Uncle Yuri said okay!"

"Okay, I'm almost done," Tamilya bites down on her bottom lip and squints one eye. "There, perfect. Do you like your nails, Beka?"

"It's lovely, Tami," Otabek replies, casting a furtive glance my way. "Couldn't stand to let Uncle Yuri put together your snacks in peace?"

"Don't worry, I was done," I shrug. "...Mostly."

"Beka, wanna help us?" Valkyrie pipes up, rushing up to him with an armful of hair accessories. 

Valkyrie suddenly doubles over, winded.

"Kyrie," pronounced keeree, Otabek frowns, stooping down to her eye-level. "Are you alright, Princess? You shouldn't be running around so much."

Valkyrie takes a deep breath, coming up blanched and wobbly. 

"I'm okay," she swallows hard. "Picky up?" she implores.

Otabek gingerly carriers her back to where Tamilya and I sit. Otabek deposits Valkyrie in my lap.

"Playing too hard, little lady?" I ask sympathetically.

She shakes her head.

"I like playing," she replies, regaining some color. "I feel okay," she insists.

"Uh-huh?" I eye the twitching vein in her neck skeptically, knowing the SVT attacks can come and pass quickly sometimes but last for hours at others without her showing much outward physical discomfort. "Promise to go easier on yourself for a bit," I tell her, holding out my pinkie.

She pinkie promises, so I allow her to get up and join the Altins as they try to figure out my hair. As discreetly as humanly possibly, I attempt to be a good babysitter. I try to pull out my phone and inform Katsudon of the minor attack we just observed. Tamilya, though, catches me red-handed.

"Is that your phone, Uncle Yuri!?" she exclaims. "Can we play Candy Crush!? Can we play Candy Crush!?"

Valkyrie joins in, although only copying older and cooler Tamilya.

"Hey," Otabek cuffs Tamilya on the ear. "Inside voice please. And leave Yura alone, he needs his phone more than you need to play Candy Crush."

"But Beka," Tamilya pleads.

I type up the message as fast as I can, so as to appease the little girls. But when I press send, I realize there is a terrible typo that is bound to give Katsudon a heart attack. I scramble to fix it, but my phone dies before I can press send.

"Brahma grant it bliss," I mutter. "Otabek give me your phone. I just told Katsudon that Kyrie had a heart attack instead of an SVT attack."

"Here," Otabek passes it above Tamilya's head. "You're welcome."

"Thanks, Beka."

"Uncle Yuri made a mistake?" Tamilya suddenly demands.

Otabek nods once. The girls start up a chorus of oo's that earns Tamilya another cuff to the ear from Otabek.

"What are you-- four?" He scolds as I search his contacts for either Victor or Katsudon. 

I finally just call Victor.

"I am six and a half, thank you very much," Tamilya sniffs indignantly.

"I'm four!" Valkyrie exclaims excitedly, as if Otabek's insult is now a praise.

"Yes you are, Princess," Otabek agrees, sweeping her into his lap.

The phone rings for what feels like ages before Victor finally picks up.

"Otabek! Is everything going alright?"

I try not to snarl in front of the girls, "It's Yuri. I just sent a typo to your husband. Your daughter had an SVT attack and I suspect she may have another before you get back but in my rush to notify you, I sent 'heart attack,' to Katsudon. Let him know Valkyrie did not have a heart attack before he freaks out. My phone is dead." 

"Oh, alright. Thanks, Yurio," I can hear him turn and call to Yuuri from somewhere. "Any other urgent or interesting news?" Victor returns to me.

"No, that was it."

"Alright," he says cheerfully. "We're waiting to board the flight home. See you later then, Yurio!"

I want to be annoyed by the shrill yelling he does in my ear, but the airport, I can hear, is crowded and noisy.

"Bye." I hang up and try not to scowl as I hand back Otabek his phone.

"All okay?" Otabek gives me a knowing look.

But as I look between ourselves and the girls, a smile creeps its way up to the edges of my lips. I shake my head and release a heavy sigh. Yeah, everything is good, with the girls. 

"All okay," I shrug, ordering everyone that it's time for snacks.


	6. Counting !

Choreography is more difficult than Victor likes to make it seem. It's a lot harder than just "doing what feels right," because not everyone has such a good intuition about what the judges are going to appreciate. So as he raves about the value of feeling and emotion, I crunch numbers. I'm listening to the waltz on repeat in my earphones, wondering how many incredible feats do I have the time to incorporate.

"Yuri, are you listening?" Victor stops, looking a little hurt.

I remove one earbud to respond. "I want another rotation on the first Salchow of the set."

"Yuri," he starts uncomfortably, "I don't want you to strain yourself at the start. This is just the free skate, it's not worth that many points--"

"I'm doing the math. I need an extra rotation somewhere if I want to stay competitive with the elders in their last year, not to mention Minami is an up and coming threat as well."

Victor looks thoughtful for a second. Otabek and Katsudon look up when they see a sudden lull in our practice session.

"All okay?" Katsudon calls out, his voice ringing in the huge space of the Russian rink. 

I look to Victor for a response. He sighs. 

"Yuuri," he beckons Katsudon over. "Come here for a minute."

Oh, great. Now he's gonna use Katsudon as a model and if Katsudon can do it, I can do it and vice versa. As if that's supposed to be a helpful standard to me. No, I can't take this right now.

"No," I protest, indignantly. Tension fills the air as I continue. "I don't need this coddling. I know what I need to do and I know what I need to do to get there. If you would ever count your moves--"

"Yuri, if you would ever count your blessings--"

"No! Okay?" My frustrated cry echoes angrily for several seconds. 

The silence that follows is unlike mine and Otabek's often comfortable lapse in verbal conversations. Katsudon has yet to move but Otabek suddenly stands.

"Outside," he beckons me.

Victor and Katsudon watch me go, guilt shading Victor's eyes as he skates to meet Katsudon. Now I've got to face my own lover, except I feel like instead of a whispering conversation I'm in for an agitated scolding. Otabek leads me all the way outside and onto a bench where he sits and waits for me to join him. I throw myself-- on the verge of metamorphosing from throwing a sulk to throwing a tantrum-- into the empty space beside him. He roughly takes my chin and waits for me to meet his expectant gaze.

I blink hesitantly as I wonder if the dark intensity evident within his hard brown eyes is founded upon anger or lust. Before I can decide, the gentlest kiss I've ever received graces my lips like a godsend. Surprised, a weak groan falls from my lips, getting lost somewhere in the medium of his skin. I don't necessarily mean to, but I am suddenly so invigorated by his embrace that I absentmindedly harshen the kiss through the sharp entrance of my tongue into his mouth. 

And then our hands begin to graze along each other's bodies. I lift my lips from their oscillating only long enough to get a few words out a time: "Mm, Beka-- I love you-- what are you doing?" 

"I love you, Yuratchka. You've been too stressed lately. I'm going to tell them you need to rest your head for today," he shrugs between kisses.

I give him my phone, straddling his lap and blocking access to his pocket. Otabek smirks, accepting my phone in place of his own. He types up a slow, methodical message. 

"Now," Otabek looks up when he finishes typing. "About your stress relief."

*****

"Are you sure, Beka?" I ask despite every muscle in my body screaming to just push my hips one inch forward. 

"Mhm," he hums lowly. "Everything you've got. Don't stop until you feel purged of your angst."

"I've got a lot of fucking angst," I lean over him and press a warm kiss to his neck. "May take a little bit more than some hearty banging to relieve it," I can't stifle the bitter edge from shading my tone.

Otabek nuzzles into my touch.

"I can handle getting a little rough," his voice is husky with want. "I know it won't solve anything at its core... but I'll always be here for you in other ways-- you know that."

"Mhm," I groan, daring to make my entrance.

Otabek tightens around my length, back arching like a cat.

The lubricant makes sliding in and out easier, but I hesitate to inculcate as angrily as Otabek intends for me. He groans when I push in faster.

"Yura--" he gasps. "Fuck. Harder, Kitten, come on."

I oblige, beginning to picture the grievances on my mind. I pound my presence with increasing power. Overtaken by the sudden images, I close my eyes against the onslaught of sadness crawling up my chest. Otabek suddenly isn't the only one fighting back tears. But my Beka was right, I can feel pressure slipping from my body like vapor with every jounce forward. 

"God," I hiss. I'm not entirely sure to whom I'm speaking now. "I-- ohh! mm-- I'm sorry."

Otabek tenses again around me, perhaps picking up on my signs of internal struggle.

"Unh, Yuratchka," he moans. "It's okay, Love."

He can't see me, fucking him from behind, but I nod, and try to relax. I find myself fighting down the mental pictures of my past. I realize tears have slipped down my cheeks and I haven't taken a breath in several seconds. Spent of breath, I gasp for air above the rising moans and crashing of skin.

I want to calm down. But the waltz for my free skate worms into my ears. The smashing sounds of sex and the roaring in my ears tumble into thundering silence as visions of my past overtake my mind's eye. My grandfather's pained face fills my sight, though my eyes are closed tight.

"Otabek!" I cry, releasing almost painfully.

I open my eyes, to assess the damage. I pull out and allow Otabek to coax me under the sheets. He isn't the kind to smother with me with love, but his warmth and his presence is welcome as it envelops me like a security blanket.

"It's over," Otabek's low voice quakes ever so gently. "Yuratchka," he thumbs my tears away. "I'm so sorry, Yuri," he hugs me into himself.

The waltz is still ringing in my ears. I count out the measures until I can catch my breath. I follow Otabek's breaths, breathing in and out as he does. He begins to murmur about whatever, but I don't want to hear it.

"I love you, Beka," I gasp between new tears. "I'm sorry, I fucked up."

"You fucked just fine," Otabek smirks. "No more apologizing, Love. You need post-sex cuddles."

"Damn right," I agree, wrapping around him.


	7. Storm

We find ourselves trapped in the throes of a flash snowstorm, and if I hold up my phone just right, I can still find enough service to check up on the status of our incoming competition. It seems as if it is going to be postponed, thanks to the storm. Erstwhile, Otabek and I are snowed in.

This is not the best condition for an agitated skater and his stolid lover. I find myself pacing restlessly around Otabek's hotel room.

"Yura," he says. "How can I help you, right now? Tell me what you want."

I bite my lip and turn to face him.

"Can I just... can I just vent to you?" I sigh.

"Of course, my love," his voice is low and inviting. Inviting, even more so, as he adds, "Come here, Yuri," and indicates for me to join him in bed.

Gingerly, I pad toward him. Unwilling to be coddled, but also in need of human touch, I climb into Otabek's lap and sit facing him. He sits up to meet me halfway. For a moment, I'm lost in the urge to kiss him. And after several seconds of kissing him, I finally find the words I need to say in order to expel my angst.

"You remember me as a child?" my voice fails me, as I attempt to remain strong.

"I do, you were very good at the barre," he nods.

"I'm going to tell you something horrible," I swallow hard. "And it's not pretty, but it's true."

Otabek looks concerned. He nods again, eyebrows knitting together.

"My grandfather adopted me because I was being neglected at home," I crumble, my face falling and the tears tumbling down with every brick of the walls I've been building for years. "They had plenty of money and they had plenty of time," I hug myself into Otabek's chest. "But they never fed me, they didn't come home for days at a time, they would drop me off at the ballet studio and leave me for hours too long and I never heard the words 'I love you' until I was given to the care of my grandfather."

"Yura..." Otabek grips me protectively. "Why are you telling me this?"

"My grandfather..." I try to explain. "My grandfather was everything to me, Otabek. He saved me from it-- God, I mean-- from them. He was there when my parents weren't and.... And now he's not. He's gone, Otabek, and I can't ever get him back."

"Oh, Yuri," Otabek strokes my shortened hair, chopped off in a fit of intermingling rage and sorrow. 

Victor trimmed it yesterday to look a little cleaner for me. He feels responsible for me, as if he's my guardian-runner-up. And maybe he is, but I'm not ready to admit that my grandfather is gone. I'm not ready to start relying solely on that lovesick idiot, or even Yakov while he's still around. 

I'm not ready to be the sob story of international television and the internet. Life was normal two days ago. Life was normal until I found him lying on the floor in the middle of a heart attack-- the irony was beyond me, at the time. But now, as I think back to Valkyrie and the SVT attack and my typo sent to Katsudon, I almost believe I caused his death, or maybe subconsciously predicted it.

"What am I supposed to do, now?" I cry.

"Your grandfather was a wonderful person, Yuratchka," Otabek kisses my neck once. "You are suffering an irrevocably enormous loss." This is a lot of words for him. "But you're not going through it alone."

"I was alone for years!" I break. "Beka," I can hardly see through the inundation of tears, "I was so alone for so long."

"You were alone," Otabek agrees, running a hand through his hair and shrugging away an onset of his own tears. "But you aren't now--"

"My Agape is gone," I interrupt. "You are the Eros for me in the same way that Katsudon and Victor share. Albeit, growing up, I never thought I'd even get this. I mean, ask Victor, I told him I was asexual and he teased me about it but he believed me. And although I'm so lucky to have you in my life, Beka... my Agape love is gone whether or not I have your Eros."

Otabek looks defeated, lost for words.

"I love you unconditionally," he replies after a moment. "I'm not arguing with you, Yuratchka. But I mean it when I say that."

"God, Beka," I linge into a desperate kiss, surfacing only long enough to say. "I love you, too. I don't mean to short change you. I'm just sad and grieving--"

"I know, Kitten," he murmurs, pulling me back into the kiss.

When I listen beyond the sound of our gentle moans and soft kisses, I can hear the snowstorm beginning to howl and the snow hitting the windows like the timid taps of fingers on the glass. The storm was annoying at first. But it's given me the time I needed with Otabek and myself.


	8. Kitten

Coping is hard, but it gets easier after the funeral. I still wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes, tears on my face. But since I've temporarily moved in with Otabek, even that has become a lot easier. 

The last skating season was a blur, but I stay with him during the off-season now. Otabek's family has been more than accommodating while I stay with them. Tamilya is as obnoxious as ever, but I love the precious brat to pieces-- not to mention the nephew on the way, by Otabek's eldest sister, is soon to be had. But on the flip side, Katsudon has been taking me to Yoga every Sunday, ritualistically stopping for coffee afterward and telling me about Victor's latest harebrained schemes. 

Life is falling back into place around the space my grandfather left. I still feel shortchanged of his life, but in some ways, I have to admit that it's brung me closer to those I have left. And in the absence of one Agape-- nature abhors a vacuum-- I suddenly stumble on an unexpected new form of Agape.

"Yuri," Otabek mutters as he stops the motorcycle. "Stay here, something in the road is moving."

"Careful," I call after him, biting my nails like a fu-- 

No. I'm just fragile right now, that's all. Self-worth exercises to the rescue. Oh, Hell. Who am I kidding? I'm being a fucking wuss.

"Yura," Otabek hisses under his breath. He beckons me over with the wave of his hand. "Come look."

I jump off the bike, removing the dumb helmet and laying it on the seat. Curiously, I begin to jog up, but he lifts his hand in a gesture to imply that I ought to slow down. I swallow hard and try to peer through the darkness at whatever Otabek is kneeling before.

"It's a momma and her kittens," Otabek whispers when I hunker down beside him.

My eyes widen. I want to squeal like a fucking little girl but, surprisingly, contain myself. Instead of completely shaming myself, I look around.

"Any cardboard boxes?"

"Not that I can see."

"What do we do then?" I ask, bordering distress.

Otabek dials his mother. He mutters and mumbles in Kazakh-- the occasional Russian word thrown in that I can recognize. After a moment, he hangs up and looks at me.

"Grab as many as you can, I'll hold the momma."

"Uh-- oh-okay," I stutter as he begins to hand me a total of four kittens. 

They are thankfully very tame-- perhaps a house cat that was dumped after she gave birth. The kittens are sweet to hold together, but the momma squirms under Otabek's arm occasionally. So, of course, I balance the four kittens, the momma cat, and myself, as we all desperately cling to Otabek's (slow-paced-- thank The Man Upstairs) motorbike. 

When we arrive with the company of cats-- kittens, no less-- Tamilya comes running down the stairs. She is immediately scolded that it is well past her bedtime, but she doesn't mind that part. She is dying to see the kittens.

I let her see three of them, but the little calico-- that matches her momma's pelt perfectly-- won't detach from my sweater. She leaves tiny claw marks in my hand when I attempt to move her.

"That one likes you most, Uncle Yuri," Tamilya giggles, cuddling a soft tabby with green eyes. "I'll go get you a band-aid for her claw marks!"

"Pirozhki will not be pleased when she sees this," I fondly chastise the little calico. 

She mewls, as if in protest. But Pirozhki soon saunters down the stairs to curiously examine all the commotion. The fluffy spoiled princess, I figure, is bound to hiss at the momma and the babies. But the two remaining kittens dance around Pirozhki while she calmly examines them, tail twitching only ever so slightly. Pirozhki looks up at me, makes eye contact, and meows.

"She clearly wants to keep one," Otabek's mother laughs, coming over to pet the kittens.

I'm unsure whether she meant Tamilya or my preexisting cat. But before I get the chance to ask, Tamilya comes back bounding down the stares with the pinkest, girliest, sparkliest band-aid she could find. She presents it to me as if bestowing the mighty Excalibur. 

"Here you go, Uncle Yuri," she adds lightly.

"Why don't you put it on for me," I shift the kitten into my other hand, holding her against my chest, and offer Tamilya the lightly damaged hand. I nod a regal thank you when she finishes.

"What are we going to do with the cats?" Tamilya asks excitedly.

"Ask your father in the morning," Mrs. Altin winks, sending her up to bed.

"As for you, Yuri," she rounds on me. "If you want one, you are welcome," she smiles at the kitten in my hand. "I'm thinking we'll likely let Tamilya keep one. But the rest we will have to find homes for-- including Momma Cat."

"I think I have to keep this one," I cradle the little kitten in the crook of my elbow.

These kittens are probably six weeks old, only just old enough to be separated from their momma. But this one has no interest in her momma anymore.

"What will you call her?" Otabek asks, almost teasingly.

I think for a long moment, glancing to Otabek's mom helplessly. Then it comes to me.

"Agape."


	9. Blush !

Waiting for the Altins to fall asleep and sneaking up to Otabek's room has become a guilty habit of mine in my time with Otabek. While he still lives at home, we have to be quiet, but he assures me that some day soon we will be through with the volume caps. We will have our own place somewhere.

We don't yet. So the low moaning and soft groaning is about as much as we allow ourselves. Even as we move to the bed, we are careful of creaking and thumping against the wall. Two parents, a small litter of kittens, and a kid-sister about to turn seven is not a small array of factors leading to our potential discovery. So every sound is suppressed and compacted into a soft hiss or gentle whisper.

The heat of the moment, however, does not fall down to match our volume. Th  heat is volcanic and threatens to become febrile. But I don't really care. I like it too much.

"Yura," Otabek pants. "Are you okay?"

I realize that I've closed my eyes, every muscle in my body clenched tightly around Otabek's body. I blink and loosen the grip of my legs thrown over his shoulders. I'm still madly blushing, though.

"Better than fine," my whisper is hoarse and froggy. 

Otabek groans, approaching his climax. He pumps quick, and deep, like a hunter over his prey. I can see him riding the razor's edge, threatening to topple into blissful rhapsodic relief any moment now.

"Fuck," he sighs, filling my body with his liquid pleasure and dripping over the sheets. "That wasn't nearly exciting enough for you," Otabek leans over me and whispers in my ear.

I'd rather it not be, so that I can maintain the self-control to be quiet. But his voice sounds as if he is leading up to something interesting. The temptation worsens my blush, leaving me a sweaty, lusting mess of ruddy flesh beneath his ever-persuasive muscular mass.

"Beka," I exhale, airless. I swallow hard as his eyes glint with mischief. 

His face looks hard with intent as he lowers himself, though his eyes are alight and excited. Surprise keeps my heart rate dancing. Then I realize what he's doing.

"Otabek!" I hiss, his tongue touching the base of my solid want. "Oh!" His tongue draws a hot stripe upward until he comes to the tip of my turgid length. 

He licks his lips and purrs a low response.

"Like that?"

"You're teasing me," I gasp, throwing my head back as waves of pleasure crash like tidal waves beneath my skin. "Yes, I like it," I groan reluctantly. "I need more, Beka, please."

He hums a bit of laughter, obliging quietly. His mouth is so warm and wet, enveloping me so quickly I almost choke on the moan rising in my throat. I can feel the beginnings of ecstasy on the rise. As if reading my mind, and wishing to draw it to the surface, Otabek sucks suddenly sucks more harshly.

"Nmm," I bite my lip to staunch the eruption of a gratified cry. "Beka!" I hiss urgently.

My hands shakily crawl into his hair. Dutifully he sucks and swathes and licks and sucks. I lose control of the muscles in my back, jouncing and writhing as my back arches and stretches. I want to release, but do I want to release into his mouth? 

"Otabek," I whisper, wheeze really. "I'm gonna cum, Beka."

But this only excites his tongue. I think I'm gonna pass out, the pleasure is so intense. My face heats and my vision goes red as I toss my head back in pleasure. I continue heat out of embarrassment though, wondering if Otabek will like the way I taste.

I have no time to dwell on the fear. The salty waves come up on their own accord. The relief is almost as enormous as the seemingly irrevocable blush over my skin. My entire body feels flushed and intoxicated with lust. Praise Brahma-- that was nice.

"Come here," I moan, watching Otabek swallow. "You're fucking incredible, Beka."

He presses a hot kiss against my shoulder, neck, cheek, finally my lips. He envelops me again, trapping me in the tempest of desire he never fails to instill. Even after release, I am still flustered and blushing. But his next cool remark sends shivers up my spine.

"Incredible-- me? Not hardly, compared to your ambrosial taste." A line like that was surely rehearsed but he delivers the words as smoothly and as seamlessly as Cupid himself.

"Smooth bastard," I groan, hugging into his chest. "I oughta get dressed and go back to the guest room, yeah?"

"In a minute," Otabek grumbles, returning my adoring embrace.

Am I the luckiest man alive? Peaking at the toned muscles in the arms holding me to the equally masculine chest, I'd say I have strong evidence to suggest that I am the luckiest man alive. But I don't have any real proof, until Otabek yawns, "I love you, Yuri," curling ever tighter around me.

"I love you too, my big bear," I mumble, settling into the warm embrace, and finally accepting and becoming used to the red dust coloring my face.


	10. Dammit

It's been a while since I've been able to grieve over my grandfather. In an attempt to block it out and move forward, my memories extend as far as the December after his death and then they fade into dull fog. The memories are still there, almost as if hidden behind a dusty curtain, and it's been so long since I've examined the pain holding that damned curtain closed that sometimes I have to remind myself why I'm always sad and moody.

I have to sell his house, left to me in his will. I can't live in it, I can't visit it, I can't think about it without him in it. So I've asked the Katsuki-Nikiforov clan to help the Altins and I prepare it and the stuff inside for auction. This is my first time coming back since my grandfather's death. 

The work goes quickly over the course of several work days. Valkyrie and Tamilya keep the place anything but silent when they "help," but occasionally, we will all fall into a hefty silence as I stare at something they've presented to me and I can do nothing but bite on my tears. But while I am allowed to slowly check off boxes as they go, like filing away my own grief, I can join their lightsome conversations from time to time. This experience paired with people I genuinely care about is therapeutic in a way.

"Well," Katsudon says once it's all said and done. "That went by rather quickly with all the help, didn't it? Any idea what you'll do with the money after you sell it?"

I blush, having to admit our plan in front of Otabek's family again.

"I'll just use it to help invest in a new place for Otabek and me," I shrug. "I don't suppose I owe you any for helping me--?"

"Nonono," Katsudon lifts his hands in something like self-defense. "You don't owe us anything, Yuri-- of course not! We were glad to help," he adds sincerely. "I was only making curious conversation."

"Snoop," I chuckle, punching his arm. I'm a little rougher than what Katsudon is used to apparently, because he rubs his arm sorely while I continue. "But yeah, I don't know what else I'd do with the money."

Victor begins to teasingly suggest something about going to Disney World before Katsudon silences him with a look as if to say, "Really? Stop that." Victor only laughs though, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't snicker at the idea myself.

 

"Home sweet home," Otabek deadpans, helping me out of my coat.

I'm exhausted, if I'm honest, after all that damned practicing. I'm grateful for his doting on me. 

"It's our first night in this apartment," Otabek adds, lifting a single eyebrow. Oh no, I can hear buds of desire blooming in his tone. "We should christen it, don't you think?"

"Mm, dammit Beka," I object, almost coyly. "I'm tired-- you'll end up topping. And that'll make-- let's see-- the alwaysth time ever," he can't resist a soft snicker at that, "and I'm taller than you now, dammit! Why am I the sub in this relationship?" and although I am a little exasperated, I am not entirely complaining authentically. Begrudgingly, I will admit that I like the sensation of Otabek pumping inside me.

Otabek gives me a slow once-over, as if sizing me up. He smoothes his hair back before giving me an amused smirk, placing one hand on the wall behind my head. I stand between he and the wall, inwardly cursing in every language I can understand. I'm still taller than him, dammit-- he's not that dominating.

"You wanna fuck me tonight, Yura?" he says, his voice low and sultry. 

With a sudden rush of confidence, I take his lead. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly as I push myself into his position and pin him against the wall, not an inch of air between us now. I breathe in his ear, "Yeah, I think I do want to fuck you tonight."

He shudders whether from fear or desire, I don't care. He shrugs out of his own jacket and nods toward the bedroom. Fighting to maintain my position of dominance, I feel the urge to assert myself again somehow. I settle for a lovebite just visible enough to mark my authority. He squirms, riding waves of intermingling pleasure and discomfort as I suck at the tender skin of his neck-- occasionally nipping at the flesh and bruising the skin. 

When I pull away, it is I who nods toward the bedroom this time-- as if to establish that tonight, we don't do anything until I say it's so.


	11. Rising !

He winks as he closes the door behind himself. Shit, this bitch thinks he's letting me assume the dominating role. There's no way in Hell I'm letting that fly. 

"I wanna fuck you, Beka" I menace toward him until I can push him against the door. "Can you do as I say?" I ask sultrily in his ear.

He shivers beneath me, nodding once.

"Good," I groan, a dark husk entering my voice. "I don't know how much longer I can wait." 

I give him a harsh push in the general direction of the bed. He doesn't stumble, but rather absorb the force. I receive a warning glance of sorts. Momentarily daunted, I almost bow to his will. Catching myself at the last second, however, I instead toss him a cocky smirk. The light of the challenge dawns across his facial features like a traffic light turned green.

Competition's rising.

He walks to the bed on his own, where he defiantly faces me, a confident air about him. This fucker wants me to make him turn around and bend him over. Okay then, fine-- but I'll give him a chance to reconsider. Forcefully, almost violently, I push a rough kiss to his lips-- our bodies colliding like a sledge hammer to a brick wall. I the hammer, I practically bounce backward until Otabek's arms swing around my torso possessively.

In an act of defiant retaliation, I bite down on his bottom lip and tug outward. It is as if I have surprised the reigns out of his grasp and into my own. Now my tongue swirls into command of the kiss. Whether he meant to or not, I don't know, but Otabek quickly melts into the passion and loses himself in the tempest of hands and skin and lips.

If I were any weaker of a soldier, I'd have lost myself too by now. But in his moment of weakness, I gingerly press him into the bed. Otabek's eyes open when he collapses into the bedding. He breaks away from the kiss and swallows hard, attempting to regain his breath.

Slowly, I snake myself up to hover above him. His eyes speak what his facial features won't. He is amused by our silent competition, and he seems as if he really wants me to win. Despite my best efforts, a smile curves the corners of my lips while I examine my prey. But I'm not one to lose my fight or go soft.

"Open your legs, Beka," I whisper low, lustful. 

My manly bear moans with heavy desire as he becomes my obeisant subordinate. I don't insert myself yet, merely pleasuring him with the grasp of my hand around his prominent want. I can almost see the pleasure in his body rising and boiling to the surface. He grows more and more vulnerable and needier with every passing pump of my wrist. I wait for him to say it.

"Yura--" he begs between rising groans and guttural grunts. "F-fuck."

"Do what?" I feel almost cruel, but a part of me revels in the taunting nature of my question.

"Fuck me, Yura," he pleads. "Oh, I need you, Yuri."

"Mm," I lean over him. "Need me?"

He blushes and nods, tossing his head back and releasing a dribble of precum. He swallows hard and fights for air. Flushed and almost out of reserve, I can see my Beka has endured enough teasing. With a cool tilt of my head and the momentary release of my hands on his body, I motion for Otabek to roll onto his stomach and bend over the foot of the bed. 

He complies readily. He meets and begins to suck two of my fingers without protest, humming around them when I retake his length into the palm of my other hand. It is by accident that my own length brushes his skin as I bend over him, but I like his reaction. His lips parts to release a hearty, "Unh!"

Impatiently, I pull out my fingers and lubricate his entrance with his own saliva. My name falls from his lips in short, desperate cries with every thrust of my fingers. Otabek is tight-- even around just my fingers-- but I need him now. 

Fuck, his climax is rising fast.

"Yuri," he pleads. "Please-- fuck."

How could I not comply? So, slowly and carefully, I push myself into him. His body contorts, repelling my penetration, and Otabek cries out in pain or ephemeral ecstasy-- I am unsure. I don't stop pushing at my slow but steady pace inward until my hips touch his skin.

I can hear his tears hit the blanket beneath him. He's been dominated for sure, so there's no need to continue hurting my Kazakh hero. 

"Wider," I grunt, gingerly coaxing his legs apart and opening up his hips. 

He moans as I resultantly fall a bit deeper into him. But as my hips almost tenderly begin to rock on their own accord, he begins to pick up my rhythm and become used to my abrasive presence. Otabek swallows hard before straightening and stretching out his spine in an effort to continue accommodating my length inside him.

The sudden pain, I think, stalled his rise to complete release. But he comes now, with an almost meek shudder and cry. Still hard, I ask for permission to ride out my own inner waves of pleasure. I've been so focused on him, I'd all but blocked out my own feelings, but with him taken care of, I am painfully aware of myself now.

Otabek declines my request and tells me to instead sit in his place at the foot of the bed. Reticently, I comply, not yet sure what he plans. But when he lowers to his knees, I suddenly understand.

"Otabek!" I cry out, his lips like a gracious gift to my already selfish display of lust. "Oh!"

And although I didn't think I was all that close, I am so overtaken by his impassioned lagniappe, I am soon releasing an ultra-salient burst of precum. I can hardly breathe as he swallows around my hard and throbbing erection. Easily, he then pushes me over the edge of self-control, sending me plummeting into a sea of bliss. 

"Fuck," I heave breathlessly. "Otabek you're incredible."

"Yeah, yeah, just come here," he yawns, rising to occupy the center of the bed.

He opens his arms and, gladly, I snuggle against him as my equal.


	12. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ! Trigger Warning !

"Otabek, stop!" I plead through wracking tears. "Why--" I stop and break down. "W-why are you doing this, Beka?" the sobs percolate through my words, my voice pathetic and meek. "What did I do to deserve this? I-I'll make it better--"

BEGIN TRIGGER ZONE

"Shut up," he rolls his eyes, fastening his helmet. "I've had enough. You always smell like filthy cat, you're a motherless coward, you can't take care of your own ugly appearance, and you're an asexual faggot. My new girlfriend is a lot better than you'll ever be. Let me go, Plishitsky."

"No!" I protest. "Otabek, don't," a painful hiccup interrupts my begging. "You can't leave me how my parents left me-- how everyone eventually leaves me."

I double over, suddenly not just emotionally but also physically wounded. Blood wells in my eyes alongside the stinging tears as I watch Beka rev the motorcycle and ride away, despair overflowing with the dizzyingly hot blood. I want to wake up. I know this is a nightmare. But I can't open my eyes.

END TRIGGER ZONE

"Yuratchka," a tender whisper shatters the horrifying dreamscape into momentary blankness. "My love, Yura, wake up." 

I blink into a shadowy reality. The bedside lamp suddenly flickers into usefulness. Otabek's tired silhouette leans over me and presses several ginger kisses on and around my lips before speaking again.

"You're crying, Yura. Oh, Yuratchka, don't cry-- I'm here," his voice strains with empathy. "What was all that about?"

"Beka," I hug him possessively. "I-I," I stutter, trying to collect myself. "I just-- I don't want to lose you," I rub desperately at my eyes as fresh tears begin to rise. "I'm not," a long airless sob, "I'm just not good enough for you, Otabek. I'm sure the rest of the world would agree--"

"Yuri!" he chastises me gently, hushing me with more kisses, climbing on top of me now. "Who made you think you aren't good enough for me? Did I say something?" His eyebrows furrow and his voice lilts with concern and pain (at my pain?).

Pinned under him, I try to just avert his beautifully dark and serious eyes. But he catches my bleary gaze wherever I look. He prompts me again, softer. I think my heart breaks at the sound.

"Am I doing something wrong?" his voice is barely audible.

"No," it's choked but I want to wail and kick and scream beneath him. "Beka-- my Beka-- you're doing everything right," I shake my head and frantically try to quit this dumb crying. "The nightmares, they're just so bad. They're so distorted and ugly and--"

"-- nightmarish?" he offers with a small smile above me.

"You get the idea," I sniff.

"How can I help you, Yura?" he lowers himself into another longer kiss on my lips.

Through the wall of flesh and oscillating lips I mumble into his ear, "I like this, please."

"Mm," he hums into the kiss. "I love you-- oh. We have a visitor," Otabek shifts and pulls Agape from the end of the bed.

She mewls in protest of the relocation until she suddenly lands on my chest. She apparently likes the comfort of warm skin-to-fur contact, laying down and curling up with an innocent purr. She stretches out and falls asleep almost instantly. I wipe my eyes again and look up at Otabek.

"She's very cute," he murmurs affectionately, patting first Agape and then stroking a hand through my own hair. "Almost as cute as you," he knows the line is sappy and hokey and deserves a playful punch, but all I can do is groan in response with the kitten on my chest.

"Ew," I smirk and roll my eyes, and then suddenly lose confidence.

Otabek watches the transformation on my face. He frowns again.

"Yuratchka, I do love you," he tries to console me. "Whatever your nightmare was about, it wasn't reality. This is. Here, with your loving Beka and ferocious cats and obnoxious extended family," he smiles a bit as he comes to the last part.

I fight down a new wave of tears. Fuck, does he have to be so... good? I love Otabek so much. How is he so perfect and right and--

"My love," he caresses my face, laying down again beside me. "Talk to me, Yuri."

"You left me for a better girlfriend in the dream," I admit quietly. "You called me ugly and disgusting and a faggot-- among other things," I have to bite down on my lip to quiet a new round of sobs. "But I didn't want you to go," I look up at him. "I don't want you to go. I-I..."

"Yura, I'm not going anywhere you aren't. I would never lie to you and call you worthless names either— never, Yura."

"I-I... I know."

"No, Yuri, look at me," he stares at me with the most genuine and intense look he can manage in the middle of the night under the weak light of a single lamp. "Never," he repeats. "You're beautiful and enticing and... do you mind if I consider you mine?"

"I am yours," I agree with a half-smile and another sniffle. "B-Beka... I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Then please do, Yura," he nods vehemently. "Marry me— let me marry you."

In terms of financial stability we might not quite be there yet, but we are both obviously emotionally ready to stop seeing other people for good and just love each other in... holy matrimonial ways.

All I can do is nod at his informal proposal, adjusting to bury my face into the crook between his neck and shoulder. Agape mewls groggily but resettles contentedly again. Reassured, when he lulls me to sleep again, it is a much nicer dream that follows.


	13. Dancing !

"Katsudon's convinced me to teach the little one ballet," I greet Otabek.

He pauses a video game and looks up from his place on the couch. I rest my yoga mat against the wall momentarily as I struggle to get out of my winter gear. Otabek stands to help me.

"Kyrie was learning in Japan?" he argues, curious.

"Yeah," I sigh. "She doesn't have an instructor in Russia," I sigh, removing my jacket. "They've apparently run into problems finding a good teacher," I mutter, knowing exactly what they'd meant. 

"Because of the heart condition?" Otabek asks, gesturing for me to join him on the couch and abandon my pile.

"The poor kid gets winded so easily but she wants to push harder," I inadvertently agree with Otabek, sitting down. "Good Russian instructors don't tolerate any kind of weakness, but she physically doesn't have a career as an athlete so no one will even take her seriously. Valkyrie just wants to dance, though."

Otabek's eyes soften. I curl into his chest and sigh.

"Let's not have kids," I grumble into the material of his shirt. That elicits a rumbling laugh from his chest.

"Okay," he agrees, "why's that?"

"There are so many reasons, Beka," I look up seriously. "And Valkyrie and Tamilya are enough. Not to mention the power couple's side-kid. And you've got more small family members coming along."

"One nephew," he rolls his eyes. "But 'side-kid' isn't a nice term for sweet Elka," Otabek chastises me. "You know how hard her life is." 

"Yeah, we know all about how hard it is for her and them and us and financially and emotionally—"

"You've made your point, Yuratchka," he smirks. "And I agree."

"Good," I nod. "That said, I need you to dance with me right now."

"What—?"

I pull him to his feet and kick the coffee table backward. The video game he'd been playing magically resumes, killing Otabek's character. 

"Yu-ri," he groans.

"Oops," I reply, unapologetically. "Okay you be a four year old," I move on.

He crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow. 

"Come on, I'm gonna see her later this afternoon," I whine.

"You didn't say that when you came through the door," he grumbles, taking a less defensive stance.

"It didn't come up," I smirk, positioning him in front of me. "Now you tell me when something is too hard."

Otabek rolls his eyes and pulls me into him. I feel the erection forming in his pants, automatically rolling my hips. He moans, low and lusty.

"You're not good at being a four year old," I inform him.

"If I were, you'd disown me for age playing," he replied easily. "But if you must know what's too hard—"

He plants a warm kiss to the base of my neck. The warmth roots all the way to my stomach and flowers at my most intimate regions. Now I can feel my own length hardening.

"Okay," I moan, "you're right about... that. But I've gotta be ready to go in two hours."

"Two hours?" Otabek breathes in my ear.

A shudder ripples up and down my spine.

"Just fuck me," I plead, pulling him into the bedroom.

"Mm," he hums. "But you're supposed to be dancing with me."

"You said you didn't want to be a four year old," I roll my eyes. "But Otabek is in for a good tango," I growl, only getting harder.

The door closes behind us with a sense of liberating finality— as if to dictate clearly that it's time for a much more adult dance. And just as I think so, Otabek overtakes me in a tongue-filled lyrical kiss. I could easily spend the day entwined with him like this, if only I had the time. One of these days, I actually might.

I wrestle overtop him and it suddenly becomes a pattern of slow kissing paired with fast hands vying for dominance. Otabek ultimately wins, pinning me into the duvet. I growl at him to lube up if he wants to fuck—which is exactly what he wants, of course. So he concedes with a half-amused groan.

Just watching him leaves me dripping with anticipation. I helplessly wonder whether my entire being is throbbing or just my desperate cock. But before I can decide, he pushes two fingers up into me and begins to stretch me out. I can only clutch the duvet as my cock twitches in desire. Otabek takes that as his cue to simultaneously take a hold of me and replace the preparation for his cock with the real deal.

The familiar sting of my body accommodating his girth soon subsides into a harsh brand of pleasure. I like the way it takes several thrusts for his hips to make full contact with my skin. I like the way love-making falls into such a natural rhythm. I like our lusty tango— to say the least.

I don't know how long it goes on, but it doesn't last an entire two hours. He lets his passion run its course as naturally as it comes— comes. His lips graze against my skin like a dancer, and my skin the stage for his performance. I'm so tired, by the end, I'm not sure he'll get much of a standing ovation.

This was admittedly a bad idea before working with a child today. I can't exactly explain that Uncle Yuri is sore as a result of casual midday sex. I'll have to set an alarm and take a power nap. When I manage as much to Otabek, he has to tease me.

"This isn't how you want to spend all your Saturdays?" He questions.

"I don't know— seems like a good routine to me," I smirk, blushing.


End file.
